A father writes about his son, who has cerebral palsy, and the special relationship they share.
My son, Stewie (Stewart; "Stewie" is what we've always called him), is a special little boy. In more ways than one.
Stewie was born nine years ago, born with a serious handicap that was diagnosed at the age of one year, after he exhibited signs of mental/physical/cognitive delays. Of course, we were devastated; yet we decided to give him the best life we possibly could.
Stewart Michael Langana is a child of courage. He can walk with crutches; uses a wheelchair on longer trips, like when at the mall or at school. He doesn't let his handicaps get in his way; he is a very determined young man, and he is incredibly smart.
He is only nine, yet he is taking some courses at the local college. He is especially good with math. He is in the Gifted/Talented program at his school; in fact, it was his teachers who suggested that he'd take some college courses, as a way to exercise his brain, help his development further.
It's worked wonders. We are amazed at how well he's done in school.
Stewie is a typical little boy who just happens to have disabilities. He loves to play video games, loves to play baseball (he's on a little league team for kids with disabilities), loves to play on the computer, loves to watch "SpongeBob SquarePants" or "Jimmy Neutron" on TV (Nickoloedeon is his favorite channel), and hang out with his friends Tyler, Joey, and Scottie.
Stewie already knows what he wants to be when he grows up: he wants to work with animals. He wants to be either a veterinarian or a "wildlife warrior", like the late Steve Irwin, who has made an impression on our young son. He watches his show on Animal Planet; he is not to be disturbed even for a moment until the "Crocodile Hunter" is finished playing.
We tell Stewie that he can do anything he sets his mind to; nothing daunts him. He can climb up the highest hill like a little crab on his crutches, then slide down on his belly like a penguin, chortling all the way. He loves wrestling with his friends or playing in the mud: the dirtier the mud is, the more gooey, the more sticky it is, the more he enjoys it. He just loves getting dirty!
Anyway, Stewie and I are extremely close. If anything were to happen to him, I don't know if I could ever live with myself. I love him too much. He and I have an extraordinary relationship; we've always gotten along well. Very well. His brothers and I don't have the relationship that Stewie and I possess.
I get mad at his brothers because they pick on him. I tell them he's only trying his best to emulate them; they won't have anything to do with him; they consider him to be something of a pest when all he's doing is trying to be noticed, accepted. It's really sad; I'm always getting after the two boys to cut Stewie a break.
Just the other day I caught Sawyer slugging Stewie in the mouth because Stewie was playing with Sawyer's air hockey game. Of course, Stewie cried, yelled for me. I grounded Sawyer for a week for tormenting his brother; I have got to make Sawyer learn that Stewart has as much right to play with his hockey game as he does; he's got to learn to share, something he should have learned long ago, when he was a little kid.
I also have to let Sawyer know that his brother needs help sometimes and to treat him badly is only going to cause more problems down the road.
It was really upsetting; I still find my eyes filling with tears when I think of it, two days later.
Now Stewie won't talk to his brother; I think he knows his brother hurt his feelings. I tell him he needs to forgive him; Stewie isn't so sure as to make the commitment to do this.
Well, I have to run: time to go to the store; we're running out of food. Again. With three growing boys, two of them teenagers, I have to go shopping more often than a lot of folks. Take care and thanks for letting me tell you about my special son!
This is an excellent write Karen, hit my heart, we raised our nephew who has disabilities and we watched him struggle for friendships, although to this day our children love him as a brother and will always be there for him, your best story yet. Thank you for sharing.
Once, in a hospital children's ward, I got a happy/desperate hug around my neck of two deformed by sickness little arms and a wet kiss on my cheek, that child should have been given a Purple Heart too, because, despite of being atrocious wounded, was still fighting.
Georg
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